Ashes
by Nynaeve1723
Summary: After a tragedy strikes the morgue staff, everyone must learn to go on. So why do Woody's nightmares seem so real? Timeline: Spring 2006. FINISHED
1. Conflagration

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made.  
It's all for fun.

A/N: Thanks for those who submitted reviews on my other stories - I really appreciate it.

Rating note: I gave this an M rating to be safe.

**Part One: Conflagration**

Woody slued his car onto the nearest curb and nearly ripped the door from its hinges. Sprinting, he left the car wide open. His eyes searched the various knots of people; his mouth was set in a tight line.  
At last he found Nigel. "Nigel! Nigel!"

The Brit turned.

Woody stopped. "Where is she? Where's Jordan?"

Nigel shook his head. "I don't know, Woody. I - uh - I haven't seen her since - since we were inside." Seeing the fear on the detective's face, Nigel clapped him on the shoulder. "I'm sure she's around here somewhere. You know our Jordan - always trying to do her own job and everyone else's."

Nigel's false smile and jovial bonhomie didn't soothe Woody. "Yeah, sure." He moved off, searching for any of the others, while behind the chaos outside, the morgue burned, a violent, sudden conflagration. The burned out hulk of a car should have grabbed Woody's attention, but tonight he couldn't think of the crime committed here. He could only think of Jordan.

He hadn't seen her in months. She'd caught only one of his calls since Christmas and, like the few before that, she'd said little to him that didn't pertain to the case at hand. Her office door was always closed whenever he stopped by the morgue. It seemed like someone had just seen her in Autopsy One... or Trace... or the staff room... try Garret's office, maybe. She must have been screening her calls because her cell always went to voice mail and her machine at home picked up. She didn't return his calls. He wanted to apologize for what he'd said, to tell her it was a good thing, though, that they'd both moved on.

So why was he here? Why was his heart racing in fear? Why did those hot flames make his blood run cold?

He finally found Garret who was huddled with Bug and Lily. Seely had arrived and had a protective hand on Lily's shoulder as she sat, wrapped in a blanket, breathing through an oxygen mask. Bug and Garret looked a little sooty around the edges, but nothing a good shower couldn't fix. Woody looked at each of them. "Where is she?"

"I haven't seen her, Woody." Garret said.

It was Bug and Lily who made Woody shiver. They both looked away.

"Bug? Lily? Where is she? She got out, right?"

"Yeah, she did," Bug nodded.

"See, she's here somewh-" Garret started.

"Then she went back in." Bug's despondent tone left no doubt as to what he believed must have happened to Jordan.

"She what...?" Macy nearly exploded. "Why? Jordan may be headstrong and - and - well, Jordan. But she's not stupid. Not stupid enough to run into a burning building. A collapsing, burning building!"

Bug gave an apologetic shrug. "There was physical evidence she needed for a case."

"A case?" It was Woody's turn to look nearly apoplectic. "What case?" He rolled his eyes. "Something to do with her mother's death, knowing Jordan."

The atypically insensitive remark from Hoyt brought an equally atypical reaction from Lily. She yanked off the oxygen mask. Her voice was hoarse and drawing the breath to speak caused searing pain in her lungs, which already felt like unwilling participants in a barbecue gone horridly wrong. "The Moreno case!" She spit the words at Woody.

He blinked. His gaze was steady on hers, his blue eyes very focused. "What?"

Lily took another painful breath. "You hear me. Your case. The case you demanded she rerun all the evidence because despite what she gave you, you couldn't get the suspect to talk."

The protest died on Woody's lips. Of course, Jordan would have gone back for the physical evidence in that case. Jeff Moreno had raped and beaten to death at least three prostitutes, but he'd also been very careful. Jordan's report had been thorough and her evidence solid as a rock, but circumstantial. He'd asked - had he demanded? God, he had... he'd hoped against hope that Jordan could work one of her seeming miracles and find that one shred of proof that would put the guy away. He hadn't put it that way though.

Over a bullhorn came the sound of the captain of the fire and rescue team, telling them they had to back away,  
that everyone was out and the collapse of the outer walls of the building was likely.

Garret, followed closely by Woody, ran toward the man with the bullhorn. Garret's face wore a look of controlled panic. He got the captain's attention. "One of my people may still be - is - in there."

The fire captain looked over his shoulder at the tottering walls. "You're the Chief M.E.?"

Garret nodded.

"Sorry, sir. Anyone in there..." He let his words trail off.

"Jordan!" Woody surged forward. Macy and the beleaguered fire captain managed to grab him and hold him back. His muscles bunched under their grip and he called her name again, as if he could conjure her up, striding out of the flames, chiding them all for being so worried about her. Wildly woody looked at the two men keeping him stationary. "You heard Bug!" he yelled at Macy. "She's in there! We have to get to her."

The fire captain's voice came in softly, but with a sad certainty. "Son, anyone in that building is - beyond our help. I'm sorry."

"No, no, NO!" Woody shook his head. "Not Jordan." He turned to Garret. "Tell him, Dr. Macy. Tell him Jordan isn't - damn it - tell him!"

"Woody." Garret's spoke as softly as the captain before him. "There's nothing we can do." The Chief M.E.'s voice was steel even as his eyes kept slipping to the fiery hulk behind them.

Panting, Woody glared at Macy. "How can you say that? It's Jordan."

"I know. Believe me, I know."

Eventually the force of Macy's voice cut through the chaos in Woody's head. The detective finally relaxed. Garret dropped his grip on Woody's arm and gestured to the fire captain to do the same. Woody asked, "When can we get in there?"

"We go first, not you, not civilians."

"I'm a homicide detective," Hoyt muttered.

The fire captain exchanged a look with Garret. "All right. Still, we go first, Detective." The man gave Garret a look that said to look after the younger man. "We'll let you know, Doctor, when your people can get in."

Macy nodded. He didn't need to be told it would be at least a couple of days. Sighing, he looked at Woody and tried to paste on a hopeful smile. "You know, she probably went out the back. We'll get to the others and find her there, laughing and joking."

Woody's look was blank and hopeless.

XXXXX

Four days later the arson squad allowed the morgue employees back in to begin their own version of clean up. The burned out car had been moved, its shell a testimony to the amount of explosives packed into it. Though no one had called him, Woody turned up.

Nigel took the lead. "Woody. Um - You know, it might be better if we-"

"I'm going in there with you, Nigel. I l- She was my friend, too."

He didn't see the glare from Lily that his words provoked. He barely head the soft snort from her. Despite the fact Lily was still pale and her lungs ached, she was determined to be there.

They had to pick their way through the wreckage, among the melted lumps of the tools of their trade. Nigel, with single-minded focus, reached her office first. He made a cursory examination. "Guys," he called out. "There's nothing here!" The hope in his voice was unmistakable.

Bug appeared behind him. "The evidence was in Trace."

Nigel's face fell.

In the end it was Lily who noticed a glint of metal in the charred detritus. "What's that?" She pointed.

Woody knelt and, with a gloved finger, sifted the ashes gently. "Oh, Jordan," he breathed.

"What is it?" Garret asked.

The chain looped over his finger, the heart pendant swinging as he stood up and faced them. "Her mother's locket."

END Part One

TBC...


	2. Daddy's Little Girl

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

A/N: Thanks for the feedback on this one and previous stories.

**Part Two: Daddy's Little Girl**

In the four days between the fire and the finding of Emily's locket, a falsely persistent sense of hope had sustained Jordan's friends. The idea that she had somehow gotten out and just hadn't been able to contact them had lasted despite all logic. When not working on clean up, Nigel had camped out at her apartment "just in case." Garret had called hercell phone at least once an hour even though the only reply he ever heard was "The cellular customer you are trying to reach is currently unavailable." At Lily's tearful request, Seely had gone to work trying to find Max. Everyone sifted through the ashes, processed even the smallest scrap of evidence with a hard determination. No one acknowledged they were as likely to prove she was dead as that she'd somehow gotten out.

Time slid by like the watches in the painting, now fleeing from them, now hanging heavy over their heads, never moving as it should. At last, they all had to admit that the fire had burned so hotly that nothing was left. Only Emily's locket remained, and Lily confirmed Jordan had been wearing it that day. No one knew exactly what she would have wanted (although they were all fairly certain, given the Digger case, she probably wouldn't want to be buried in a casket), but the idea of simply moving on, of letting Jordan Cavanaugh go, with nothing more than a hearty "we tried" didn't sit well. It fell to Garret to choose a headstone and arrange its placement next to her mother's, though the ground beneath it would be empty. He agonized over the choice of words and finally went with the simplest phrase he could think of, but one that expressed what they all hoped she had at last. Rest in Peace.

The day of the graveside memorial service was one of the most beautiful June days in memory. Nearly two months had passed since that horrible night. The dark smudges under Lily's eyes were now from lack of sleep and grief. Nigel and Bug often wore haunted looks that never quite went away completely. Too often the phrase "I wonder what Jordan would think" came from a mouth that listened to a heart that failed - or refused - to remember what had happened. Garret oversaw their moving into a temporary building while the old one was leveled and rebuilt. He could barely stop himself from leaving an office open for her. The wrongness of eulogizing her on a day such as the one they'd chosen was beyond all the telling. Then again no day would have served.

Her friends spoke in hushed voices, in tones that broke upon still-sharp grief, extolling her virtues and making it clear how much they had loved her not in spite of her faults, but because, like her qualities, they were part of who she was. Only Woody didn't speak, a dark-suited haunt lingering behind the cluster of Jordan's quasi-family. What could he say? "I loved her. She loved me and, in a moment of pain, fear and anger, I told her I didn't believe her. I made her declaration worthless and then I made everything we'd had together worthless by moving on without her." They wouldn't thank him for it. Lily would fix her stony eyes on him, press her mouth into a tight light and then look through him, as she'd done every time he'd seen her since the fire. The others might be cordial, but Jordan's death had finished what the aftermath of Woody's shooting had started. The camaraderie, the feeling of belonging somehow had gone up in flames that night, too.

Next to him, Tammy squeezed his hand softly. Tammy was part of moving on. His medically appointed shrink who'd not only gotten him out of the mental funk the shooting had produced, but had propelled his heart out of the rut he'd let it sink into with Jordan. Straightforward, unafraid and placid, Tammy Harrison was as nearly opposite Jordan Cavanaugh as a man could get. Any man would be crazy not to pursue her and crazier if, once having her in his life, let her get away. Woody had coveted the unattainable for too long. He was ready for the tranquility she represented. He firmly ignored the small voice in his brain that kept asking why he'd gone to the fire that night, then. And why he'd tried to charge into a burning building to find someone other than Tammy.

When everyone else had gone, Garret, Lily, Nigel and Bug stood around, trying to ignore the newly placed headstone and the undisturbed sod that ran from its length. They made a few inane comments and then fell to an uneasy silence. Woody hadn't stayed and none of them had asked him to. Maybe in time...

A shadow fell across the grass. "Nice enough service. Jordan would have liked it, I think." They turned at Max Cavanaugh's broad vowels. "Now that young Seely found me and got me here, maybe you'd better tell me what happened to my baby girl."

XXXXX

They went to the Beef 'n' Brew over Bug's protest. "Don't you think we should go somewhere - you know - a little more… upscale?"

"Why?" Nigel asked. "We had a lot of good times there."

"We'll have an old-fashioned Irish wake," Max asserted. "Drinking and singing and telling tales about Jordan. Great tradition when you've just buried your only child." His words were light, but his tone heavy and bitter.

There was little drinking, no singing and the only tale told about Jordan was of her death. Max listened with an impassive face. When they finished, for the tale had been told by all of them, Max nodded. "That's my Jordan. Does what she thinks right and worries about the consequences later." No one corrected his use of the present tense; they all did it too much themselves. After a long pause, he sighed. "I'll have to go see Hoyt. I might as well have that locket back." He rubbed his chin absently. "I wonder how she got it. We buried Emily with that locket."

"She snuck into the funeral home and stole it." Woody's blue eyes were veiled, the light in them so dimmed as to make them almost holes in his face. "I won't stay. Seely told me he found you, Max, and I guessed you might come here." Woody took the locket out of his pocket. He resisted the temptation to open it one last time, to gaze on the child Jordan had been, to let her words "Yeah, I was a cute kid," echo in his heart. He handed the locket, pendant dangling from its chain, gold glinting in the muted light, to Max.

Max looked at it for a long moment, as if his whole life could be summed up in that tiny piece of jewelry. Maybe it could. He saw the look on Woody's face, knew that, for the barest of moments, the young detective wanted to wrap his hand around the charm and call out "Mine! Mine! All mine!" But then Hoyt gave up his talisman. He did the one thing Jordan had never been able to do. He let go.

Max took it. He rubbed his fingers over the heart and, fumbling a bit, opened it. "Oh, Jordan," he breathed. "Damn it, it wasn't supposed to be this way."

END Part Two

TBC...


	3. I'll Be Seeing You

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Three: I'll Be Seeing You**

The killings started on July 4. Woody's nightmares started about three weeks later, after the sixth body. By that time the press had dubbed the case the William Tell Murders, because each victim had been shot through the lefteye with an arrow, pinned to a tree in a variety of areas like grotesque and out-of-season Christmas ornaments. An apple rested on the top of the head of each victim. The one detail they'd managed to keep out of print or broadcast news was that, while the murderous archer might have tremendous accuracy to hit so routinely his target, the arrow-through-the-eye was not the cause of death. All the victims had been dead before that.

What killed them?

That - along with the killer's identity - was the million dollar question. No one could figure it out.

The city seemed to shrink in on itself a bit for the killer also seemed to choose at random. His victims came from different walks of life, led different lifestyles and, so far, had been a mixture of races. The first victim had been a Harvard student taking some summer courses. He'd gone to a bar with some friends, at some point in the night, went to the restroom and never came back. His blond, blue-eyed good looks accused the police from the front page of the papers until he was supplanted by the second victim.

She had been a middle-aged black woman who ran her own florist's shop. She'd left on a Thursday as normal, gone home, gone to choir practice and vanished - until her body was found.

The third victim had been a Latino male in his late fifties. He worked in the harbor and was strong as an ox. There had been not a single defensive would on his body nor any sign that he'd been injected with anything or made to ingest what had killed him.

The fourth and fifth victims had both been girls in their twenties, one white and one studying in Boston from Venezuela.

One had disappeared from a baseball game at Fenway and the other from her apartment (though there'd been sign of forced entry). Nothing indicated any of the victims knew each other, had the same hobbies or went to the same places. Woody was convinced if the M.E.'s office could find out how they died, his team would find their link as to why they died. He knew Garret and his staff were doing their best, especially given the chaotic nature of their present location, but his patience was thin. The headlines screamed daily about citizens' fears and police incompetence and calls for this, that or the other thing that wouldn't make a damn bit of difference.

XXXXX

Nigel looked up from the microscope slide and rubbed his eyes. Though they'd manage to secure the forensic equipment needed to run a modern day lab, all their machinery was yielding precious little. Garret had suggested using an old-fashioned method. "Try a microscope slide, Nige. It what Jor-" Macy's face had gone slack and he'd shaken himself inside. "Just try it," he finished, more tersely than intended. Now Nigel sat back and pondered that slide. Garret had been right. It was what Jordan would have done. Jordan also would have had some flash of insight or inspiration or maybe just sheer lunacy, but she'd been Jordan and it would have cracked the case. Nigel knew there was something in the stain he'd done. Something he wasn't seeing. Sighing in frustration and disgust he stood up and kicked the roller chair away. "Damn!" he yelled to the empty room. "Damn this case." He ran his hands through his hair. "And damn her for dying," he muttered.

"Nigel?"

He jumped at Lily's soft voice.

"Oh, sorry, luv. Just venting my frustration a little. I didn't mean - if you heard..."

She smiled weakly. "It's okay. I know what you mean. I keep thinking if she were here..."

He nodded and studied Lily for a moment. The circles under her eyes were lightning a little, though she was still too thin.Grief had taken its toll on her. "What did you need?" He asked after a moment's pause.

"Max is here. He wanted to ask you something."

Nigel squirmed a little. Why he felt guilty facing Jordan's father he couldn't have said, beyond that somehow he felt theyall should have taken better care of her for Max. "Yeah, fine."

When Max walked in he carried his late wife's locket.

Nigel looked away.

"Sorry to bother you," Max started, "but I needed to know something."

"Sure, Max. What is it?" The Brit asked.

"Tell me again where you found this?"

Nigel did as asked, pausing several times, the pain still amazingly fresh.

After Nigel was done, Max nodded several times. "And you didn't find anything else?"

Nigel gave a sad shake of his head.

"I was wondering if you could do one more thing for me."

"Anything, Max."

"Fingerprint the locket."

Nigel's eyes widened. "Why?"

Max shrugged. "I just got to wondering who might have been handling it."

"Max, you don't think...? You think maybe someone followed her in here and killed her?" Nigel was already busy moving around, getting out the fingerprint powder. "I don't see how, but let's-"

"Nigel!" Garret's summons was preemptory. "I need you. Now." Macy raised a hand in mute greeting to Jordan's father. "We have another victim."

"The William Tell Murders?" Max asked, his eyes holding some curiosity.

Macy nodded.

Nigel began to apologize to Max, who waved him off. "No problem. Most likely just an old man, grieving, wanting- ah, you know - to find some sort of reason, any reason."

The two morgue staff rushed off, leaving Max alone in Trace. He sat where they'd left him for nearly a full ten minutes, staring into space, grieving anyone might have said. When he was as sure as he'd ever be that everyone was occupied elsewhere, he helped himself to the fingerprint powder Nigel had, in his haste, forgotten to put back. Max spoke softly to himself as he worked. "I'm sure Jordan wouldn't like my technique, but... let's see." He examined the surface of the locket. "Interesting."

XXXXX

The scene was cordoned off and Woody was directing uniformed officers in what he needed them to do. He greeted Macy and Nigel by pointing to the body. Both men winced. Amid the chattering of summer insects, shimmering in early morning heat, the Tell killer's latest victim was a face known to any city and most state employees. Fifty-four year old Andrea Wallace was an outspoken city councilwoman. She criticized the machinery of government at any and every opportunity, introduced contentious measures to meetings and let her fellow council members know exactly what she thought of them. Some of what she said couldn't be printed in the papers, and no news station would broadcast live -or even on a ten second delay - with her any longer. The jaunty red apple on the top of her head jarred obscenely with her gently sagging body, its weight suspended only by the arrow in its now almost trademark location through her left eye. Blood trickled from the destroyed socket, giving her the appearance of someone crying blood. All this - as well as her race and other things they could generally determine about her - Nigel stated.

Nigel and Garret gave each other the same look of comprehension at the same time. "Blood!" Nigel tried not to sound too excited. "She bled."

Macy nodded.

Woody approached them. "Anything?" He didn't sound hopeful.

"Possibly," Garret told him. "She bled from her left eye."

Woody shrugged. "I'd think having an arrow shot through it would..." His face changed. "She bled?"

Nigel nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. "The good councilwoman wasn't quite as dead as our killer likes them. It might be she fought back."

"Anything, guys. Anything," Woody all but begged. His eyes narrowed. "Did you see that?"

"See what?"

"I thought..." His brow furrowed. "Over there. I thought I saw someone lurking. Near that pond, kind of behind the fountain."

Nope, sorries and Didn't see a thing, mates were all he got. "I'll have someone check it out. You never know." Walking off, Hoyt called back, "Let me know when you get something. Anything." He was close enough for them to hear his directions to the uniform he'd called over. "I don't know. I didn't get a good look at height, but dark hair, short. Sunglasses. Shorts and a t-shirt, I think. Take Elmeiro with you. Could be our killer wanted to see his handiwork."

Nigel and Garret got to work.

XXXXX

Woody let himself in to his apartment a little after eight that night. He found Tammy curled up on his couch, going over student papers. She also taught a class at Radcliff. She looked up, her reading glasses slipping to the end of her nose.

"I got take out."

"Thanks. Sorry, I'm late-"

She waved away his apology. "I saw the news. I figured."

Woody ate silently and then, after giving Tammy a quick kiss, went to grab a shower. Standing under the water he thought he could shower twenty-four hours a day and it wasn't going to wash away the filth of this case. Macy had called late in the day with a little bit of information. Fingernail scrapings had been taken and when a suspect was in custody, they could do a DNA match. They'd figured the killer was tying his victims to the trees before shooting them, but so far no fibers had been left behind. Until today. Nigel was working on it. And yes, she'd been alive when shot with the arrow. Woody sighed. He reminded himself this was progress.

After he toweled off, he checked the time and called out to Tammy that he was going to bed. She knew he was exhausted. She called back that she'd be in later. Woody laid down and closed his eyes, sleeping coming almost instantly. Tammy just smiled when she came in an hour later and found his bedside light still on. She lay down next to him and he never moved.

Sometime well after midnight, but before dawn had thought to begin its appearance, Woody's dreams took him to the park. He kept seeing that figure out of the corner of his eye. A flash of light - reflected off of something, he thought - and he'd turn, only to find the space empty. Not empty of people, but empty. No fountain, no other trees, not even any grass. No one could hide in that. And then it would happen again, behind him. Finally, he convinced himself it was a dream. He opened his eyes and sat up.

She stood there. Black slacks, a red silk tank top. Her hair fell, long and curly, over her shoulders. She took a few steps toward him, her high-heeled leather boots not making the slightest sound. She put one finger over her lips to indicate he should be quiet. Her nails caught his attention - they were perfect and the red was the exact shade of her top. She whispered his name, asked him if he'd been able to put Moreno away after all.

Before he could answer, his cell phone rang. His instinctive cry of "Jordan!" brought Tammy out of her sleep. She watched him recollect himself as he answered his phone. The news coming from the other end had him alert in moments. "Okay, on my way."

Woody turned to Tammy. "Sorry."

She kept her voice even. "Case?"

"Another body pinned to a tree."

Twenty minutes later, Woody was on his way.

END Part Three

TBC...


	4. Father Knows Best

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Four: Father Knows Best**

The murders continued through August and into September - seven more between the councilwoman's death and Labor Day and three after that. Woody began to scan crime scenes for the person he'd sworn he'd seen lurking. No amount of canvassing or hunting ever turned up anyone matching his amittedly vague description. A few more times he thought he caught sight of the person, but it would seem his questions had sent the other to ground.

By September his nerves were ragged beyond measure. No one else had seen the figure and he didn't dare tell anyone about his dreams - or were they nightmares? After the first one, he hadn't dreamt of her for a week. And then she'd appeared again - whispering his name softly, asking about Moreno and before he could answer, she had vanished in a wreath of smoke. The dreams began to become more frequent and their endings less sanguine. Tammy had said nothing, but Woody knew he'd called out Jordan's name after the first few dreams. He'd forced himself to keep his lips clamped tightly shut when waking up. Any other evidence (and there was that aplenty if Tammy had chosen to notice) he couldn't control. These dreams weren't unpleasant, but disquieting. It was until the second or third week that they began to rattle him.

They all started the same - her whisper, her question about Moreno. Then she had kissed him, gently, lovingly and whispered in his ear that she'd meant it and she'd never moved on. Then she'd looked down at her fingertips which blazed like taper candles. Unable to move, Woody had watched the fire consume her. He'd woken up sweating and shaking from that one. By mid-September, he'd have considered that one a blessing. By mid-September, she was bursting into flames and blazing away until nothing was left just after whispering his name.

By the twentieth he was usually in his office an hour before his shift and staying late. It seemed to keep him sane. So he'd already had two cups of coffee and caffeine was surging through his blood when Nigel called that morning.

"What've you got, Nigel?"

"A break in the Tell case, I think."

Woody sat bolt upright. "You think?"

"Well, yeah."

"What? How? When?"

Nigel hesitated. "Can you come down here?"

Woody looked at his desk - completely clear. He thought of the possibility - even a remote one - of getting anything on

Tell before he struck again - and agreed readily. "Be there as soon as I can."

XXXXX

Woody was struck again by how incredibly sterile the temporary morgue seemed. Deep down he knew why, but given his subconscious' nightly Jordan-a-grams, he decided to ignore that. He found Nigel hunched over, eyes fixated on the computer screen. He glanced up as Woody came in. "Fascinating, just fascinating."

Woody looked over the Brit's shoulder. "What is it?"

"I think I know what our man uses."

"Hit me," was all Woody said.

"Yew."

"Huh?" Woody shook his head in confusion. "What's that supposed to mean?" His eyes widened. "What? I'm committing the murders?"

Nigel gave him a wicked little grin. "Not you, Woody. _Yew_. As in the tree. Common to the entire Northern Hemisphere, sacred to an ancient culture or two and a nifty way to kill someone without anyone knowing how you did it."

Woody nodded and gestured for Nigel to continue.

"The yew tree, you see..." Nigel was enjoying his word play far too much, in Woody's opinion. The detective glared. "Right, getting on with it. The whole bloody tree, except the nice shiny red berries, is poisonous. Loaded with something we call taxine."

"Would someone - eat something from a tree? I mean, I know we eat lots of things from plants, but... you know what I'm asking, right?"

"I do indeed. And, no, I don't think anyone would intentionally eat the bark, leaves or seeds. But-" Nigel held up a hand to signal absolute quiet for his grand revelation. "But someone might very well drink a tea that had been brewed with any of those parts of the yew tree."

"How'd you find it?"

"I re-ran samples of the stomach contents. Taxine can only be detected in gastric contents. Sure enough, all of our victims had taxine in them."

Woody nodded and bit his lower lip, thinking. "So our man probably knows something about gardening?"

"I'd guess gardening, yeah. Not to tell you how to do your job, but perhaps a canvas of local nurseries?"

For a moment Woody's heart beat double time. Jordan never would have been so deferential - she'd have started phoning area plant stores herself. By the time he'd gotten there, she'd probably have spoken to half of the ones in the city. Woody forced the thought from his mind. "It's a place to start. Thanks, Nigel."

"No problem, mate. Maybe this is the break."

Woody paused at the door. He glanced back at the Brit. "What made you think to look for this taxine?"

"I was wondering when you'd ask that. Believe it or not, I found a note on my desk this morning. It said, "Check stomach contents for taxine."

Woody's eyebrows arched.

XXXXX

Max sat back on his heels and studied the headstone. Macy had done a good job. Simple, but appropriate for Jordan. The day was gorgeous - the trees beginning to turn and a few leaves patch worked the grass. Max took the locket out of his pocket. It swung gently, the light flashing off its gold surface. Max opened it and studied the little girl. He wondered exactly when he'd lost her. Emily's death? The fight with Jordan's grandmother? The lies he had told? He tried to imagine what he would do differently if he had the chance. He smiled slightly. Of course, then she wouldn't be Jordan and, as exasperating as she could be, Max thought she'd turned out pretty good overall. She had her relationship issues, but anyone who thought Jordan didn't care had never watched her pursue justice for those who couldn't any longer. Max stood up and thrust his hands into his pockets.

"All right, Jordan. I think I deserve an explanation." He raised his eyes and looked at a large tree about twenty feet away. "Don't bother hiding. I know you're there."

A figure detached itself, melting from the shadow of the trunk and walking hesitantly into the mellow afternoon sun. Her hair was cropped short, barely skimming her ears. She wore jeans and a t-shirt with some logo Max didn't recognize. She wore sneakers and Max thought he'd never seen more appropriate footwear on her with all the sneaking she'd been doing. She was thin, far too thin to Max's eyes. Shadows nestled under her eyes and her face was unusually pale. Her dark eyes never left his face. Her mouth quivered. Max took a few steps toward her and opened his arms. She rushed into them and all but collapsed against him as he held her - perhaps more tightly than he ever had. She cried, great, shaking, silent sobs. Max stroked her back as he would have when she'd been a child. "It's all right, Jordan. It's going to be all right."

END Part Four

TBC...


	5. I Touched the Fire

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Five: I Touched the Fire**

Max held the coffee cup to his lips, but he didn't drink. Instead he studied Jordan over its rim. She pushed the food on her plate around and around, her eyes seemingly fascinated with its endless circuits of her plate. "Eat it, Jordan. You're too thin."

She looked up and started too make a reply. Instead she obediently ate a mouthful of the pasta she'd ordered. She gazed around the diner Max had talked her into. Nearly an hour out of Boston, small but clean, the diner served good, plain food. Jordan put her fork down. "How'd you know?"

Max smiled and put down his coffee cup. Maybe both of their defenses had come down a little. "Jordan, you're a hell of a medical examiner, but you missed a couple of details."

She grimaced.

Max's smile broadened. "You were hoping your friends would be too upset to notice?" Jordan nodded slowly and resumed pushing her food around. Max reached over and stopped her. "You think because I noticed I wasn't upset?"

She shrugged.

"Jordan, it tore my heart out. You have always been the best part of my life." Her mouth dropped open. "I know I haven't managed to make you feel that way all the time-"

"Dad-"

He shook his head. "No, let me finish. I got pulled a lot of different ways in my life and the person who paid the most for that was you. You always seemed so independent, so tough... I didn't realize for a long time that my daughter shouldn't have to be so tough around me." He lifted a shoulder. "By the time I got it figured out, it was too late."

Tears pricked Jordan's eyes. "It's not too late, Dad."

"No? You wanted everyone to believe it was."

She rolled her eyes. "I - I - Dad, I'm sorry you - I'm sorry."

"What happened, Jordan?" His eyes made her squirm. "Did you plan it?"

"What?" Her mouth made an "o" of horror. "No! Of course, not! I just - I don't even know if I can explain it, Dad."

"Try."

She sighed. Her tongue darted from behind her lips and ran over her mouth. Another sigh. "I realized there was some material evidence in this case-"

"I know that part."

"All right, well, I went back to get it." She took her hand from her father's and began twisting her own two hands together. "And I was standing there - I couldn't get to where it was - the fire was already too hot. I kept thinking about the guy we were trying to catch, how he was going to get a second chance. He didn't deserve it, but without the shirt we'd had... He was free."

"And you decided if a shirt going up in flames could set a man free, it could do wonders for a medical examiner?"

She shrugged. "Yeah. I guess. I didn't think it through."

"Yes, you did, Jordan."

"No, really I..." Her mouth closed slowly over the lie. "What mistakes did I make, Dad?"

He chuckled. "You know, I've been waiting for Garret - or Nigel maybe - to put it together. I realized what was wrong the first time they told me where they found the locket." His eyes twinkled at her. "The fire was so hot that there wasn't any real trace evidence left, Jordan, but the locket survived?"

"Hey, it's possible!"

"It would have been damaged." Max didn't ask, he stated. "You didn't want them to have any doubt. You wanted them to go on. But-" He shook a finger at her. "Always thinking a few jumps ahead, you decided that just in case anybody started wondering if maybe your 'death' wasn't accidental, you'd make sure no one ever got blamed. You know, I might have been able to believe the locket survived - stranger things have happened. But I printed it, Jordan."

She dropped her head and then looked up at him, a ghost of a smile playing on her face. "I never could put much past you, could I?"

"Family trait." He nodded toward her food. "Eat."

Jordan did as directed as Max signaled for more coffee. He watched her finish her meal, wanting to question her about where she'd been, how she'd lived, but he decided not to push his luck. "Are you going to tell them?"

Her fork clattered to her plate.

XXXXX

Nigel's mouth was pursed as he held the mysterious note up to the light. There was something about it. He couldn't put his finger on it, but something. Something. He'd assumed at first that Dr. Macy must have thought of something on his way out last night, but the more he thought about it, the more Nigel discounted that explanation. It didn't fit. Though he had other things to do, he decided to fingerprint the note.

No prints.

And that reminded him of Max's visit a while ago. He'd never come back to have Nigel print the... Max had been a cop long enough, maybe he'd printed it himself - after Nigel had left with Macy. But why had it been so important? And what had he found?

Nigel grimaced. He was missing something. There was a connection he just couldn't see. Something he was so close to. What? What? What?

The phone rang, jarring him out of his black study. He answered it. "Yeah, Woody. All right. Sure. No problem." Nigel hung up and grabbed a kit. The yew lead had panned out! An employee at one of the nurseries that sold yew trees had no alibi for the various killings, lived with his deaf mother, whose house happened to possess a basement, had a history of stalking random citizens and enjoyed bow hunting. Slam dunk - Woody was certain. He just needed Nigel to run the DNA against the sample found under the councilwoman's nails.

Nigel stuck his head into Macy's office. "Woody's got a suspect in the Tell murders. I'll be at the precinct."

Garret looked up and nodded. "How'd he get a suspect?"

Nigel briefly explained.

"What made you decide to rerun the stomach contents?"

For a moment Nigel looked down. Dr. Macy hated his odd theories. "Oh, you know, nothing else was working. I thought maybe we should start looking at any possibility, no matter how remote it seemed."

Macy nodded. "Good thought. Something Jor-..." He still couldn't say it. He waved Nigel off.

XXXXX

By the time Nigel arrived at the precinct, the suspect had lawyered up. Nigel could hear the arguments. "You have no proof any of the victims shopped at my client's place of employment!" came the first shot Nigel heard.

"We're checking receipts right now. Besides, the nursery doesn't keep records of cash or check sales. Believe me, we're going to find out your client had met every single one of these people." Woody's voice was insistent, angry. "And your client has no alibi!"

"His mother is deaf and in ill health!"

"Right, so she wouldn't know if he were home or not."

"She requires constant attention. A caregiver during the day and if my client leaves the house at night, he has to find someone to stay with her. This is ridiculous."

Woody lowered his voice. It became smooth and deadly. "Your client has murdered more than ten people. Somehow I don't think he'd stop at leaving his mother alone. And we're going to get DNA and prove it."

Nigel took that as his cue and went in.

"We welcome the DNA test," the lawyer said stiffly.

XXXXX

Nigel picked up the phone and dialed Hoyt. "Woody?"

"Tell me we got him, Nigel!"

"Would that I could, Detective. Would that I could."

"It doesn't match?"

"Not even close."

"Damn!" Woody ground his teeth. "Thanks, Nigel." He stood up and returned to the interrogation room. "Your client is free to go." Woody ignored the lawyer's smirk. He watched them go and then decided to head home himself. It had been the worst day since... yeah. He ran his hand through his hair, sighing. Jordan would have figured it out. That wasn't fair to her colleagues, but Woody couldn't stop the thought from forming. Jordan would have figured it out by now. "I need you, Jordan," he whispered. "God, I need you."

END Part Five

TBC...


	6. On the Brink

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive

criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

A/N: As ever, thanks to everyone who has written feedback. I'm glad you're enjoying it.

**Part Six: On the Brink**

Max sat in his car, watching his daughter walk away. He'd dropped her at the cemetery after she'd extracted a promise from him that he wouldn't follow her. "I need time," had been the thrust of all she'd said. Still, as she vanished, the temptation was strong to make sure she was all right, to find out where and how she'd been living. Max sighed - he'd broken enough promises to Jordan in her life. If this was a new chance for them, then he'd better start by keeping this one.

He thought of her friends and in his mind their conversation replayed itself...

TWO HOURS EARLIER

"I can't tell them, Dad."

"Why not?"

She shook her head. "They'd never understand. They'd hate me."

Max's shrewd look made her uncomfortable again. "Well, pardon me for saying, Jordan, but from where I'm sitting I'm a bit surprised you'd be worried about them understanding or hating you."

She didn't say anything, but felt tears welling up in her eyes.

Her father handed her a paper napkin from the dispenser. "I'm sorry. That probably wasn't very fair."

"No, actually, it was." Her voice was thick with the tears she held back. She swallowed around the painful lump in her throat. "You're right."

"Make me understand, Jordan."

She snorted. "So you can hate me?"

He gave her a smile that summed up their relationship - tender, bitter, sad, loving, damaged and yet, in the tiniest measure, hopeful. "I could never hate you, Jordan."

After a long silence, she nodded. "Can we go somewhere else? Somewhere quiet?"

So Max took her a small park across the street from the diner. On an impulse he bought them both ice cream cones from an old-fashioned vendor with a pushcart. He handed Jordan hers, saying, "I know it's not the ripple-nut-all-that-fancy-stuff you all eat these days, but it used to be your favorite."

She took a lick of the sweet, cold strawberry ice cream and, for the first time since the cemetery, let the tears trickle from her eyes. They walked under a green canopy of trees, finding a bench at the park's far reaches and sitting down. Max let Jordan finish her cone without pressing her. She'd agreed to explain and he knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't go back on that. Jordan may have had her commitment problems and the occasional anger issue, but when she said she'd do something, she'd always done it. When she finished the ice cream, she clasped her hands together and put them between her knees, hunching forward.

Her hair swung free, curtaining her face. Had she been a child still, Max would have reached over and pushed it back, wanting to see her eyes, to read her expression, to learn everything about her. Jordan looked over in surprise when he did. Her eyes threatened to spill over again. Instead she began to speak, her voice quavering. "I couldn't take it anymore."

"Take what?" Max's forehead crinkled in genuine confusion.

Her mouth quirked into a bitter line. "Didn't they tell you?"

"About what?"

"Woody."

He shook his head. "I know Hoyt got himself shot."

Miserably, she nodded. "He'd - We'd -" She took a deep breath. "He tried to give me this - friendship ring on my birthday. I got scared, said no way. We worked this case and-" Another sigh. "I wanted to tell him I'd changed my mind, but he - uh - he'd decided he just wanted to be friends."

"Can you blame him?"

She shook her head. "After everything? No. So, I - I... anyway, he got shot and, in the hospital, going into surgery, I got there in time. I told him I could say it. That I love him. Loved." Her shoulders drooped. "Typical Jordan - too little, too late. When he came to, he thought I'd said it out of pity. He told me to get out of his life." She paused. "What he actually said was screw my pity and screw me."

Max nodded, chewing the inside of his lip. "So even though he was in pain and scared and not himself, you took him at his word and got out of his life."

"Gee, Dad," she replied with some of her old sarcasm. "I thought you'd be happy for him. You did warn him about me."

Max put a hand on her knee. "Didn't do any good. He fell in love with you. Hell, he probably already was then. But what I never expected, Jordan, was that you'd fall in love with him." He gave her a look. "You may not understand this, but I did that for you as much for him. You may pretend otherwise, but you hate hurting people - you take all the responsibility on yourself, Jordan, as if other people had no choice in the matter. I didn't want you to have that guilt."

She considered that for a moment.

"So you fell for him, but couldn't tell him?"

She nodded. "I was afraid to lose him as a friend." Her hair swung back into her face.

Without thinking this time, Max tucked it behind her ear, his fingers lingering on the long, dark strands. "You're not her, Jordan. And that's the way it should be."

"What does that mean?" Her voice was that of a child's.

Max tilted up her chin. "It means you can be happy, Jordan."

She gave him a hopeless look. "Here? I think I kind of blew that chance, don't you?"

He shook his head. "They'll be angry. And hurt - mostly hurt, I think. But, in the end, everyone will be so happy to have you back."

"Not Woody."

"Yes, he will."

"He's dating someone, Dad. She practically lives with him." Jordan wished back the words as soon as she heard them, but Max made no comment.

"So a guy - maybe a special one - knocks you for a loop, and you not only run, you let everyone think you're dead?"

She shook her head. "That's just it, Dad. Everyone thought I'd run. Everyone." She coughed, choking back tears. "That night, I - I saw a way out. No one watching me anymore; no one wondering if this is the day I'll pick up and never show my face in Boston again; no one - no one being careful of me anymore."

"New life, new Jordan, is that it?" She didn't reply. "Has it worked out?"

She sighed and shifted uneasily. "Not really."

"Yeah, I notice you're still in Boston."

She laughed harshly. "Yeah. I guess some things just don't change."

That had been the end of the discussion. With it had come Jordan's refusal to tell where she was living. She had said she'd contact him in a few days. She'd agreed to think about telling the others, but he didn't count on her changing her mind any time soon.

XXXXX

As Max watched his daughter walking out of his life with the thin promise of calling in a few days, Nigel sat in his makeshift office and checked his e-mail. He scanned the subject lines. "Well, well, what have we here?" He clicked on the e-mail with the subject "T is for Taxine" and his eyes widened. He picked up the phone and called the precinct.

Woody's voice was tired and less-than-hopeful when he took Nigel's call. "Something new?"

"I hate to get too enthusiastic about it, I admit, but I've had another - message."

In his office, Woody sat up. "Another note?"

"Not exactly. This time my... helper sent me an e-mail."

"What's it say?"

"It says all of our victims have a common link."

"Does it say what that might be?" Woody crumpled up a piece of paper from his desk and arced it toward the wastebasket. He missed.

"Our writer doesn't exactly say. Can't."

"Can't or won't? 'Cause, Nigel, this could be our killer taunting us, you know."

"Yeah, yeah, I thought of that," Nigel agreed. "But I don't think so. The sender says they all... hmm..." he chuckled.

"That's kind of funny."

"Nigel," Woody growled.

"Sorry. The sender says they all shopped at rabbit-feed stores."

Woody sighed. "Rabbit-feed stores?"

Nigel grinned. "Yeah. You know, health food stores. Sounds like something-" Nigel stopped.

"Like something what?"

"Huh?" Nigel's fingers flew over the keyboard, setting in motion a trace of the sender's information. "Oh, nothing. No, not important. Our - um - helper isn't sure which one though."

"Well, it's better than nothing. I hope." Woody leaned back in his chair. "I'll get my people on it."

"Great. Yeah. Woody, do you want me to trace the sender?"

"Can't hurt. Let me know if you find anything important."

Nigel's voice held an oddly serious and sad note. "Oh, I will. Don't worry, I will." Still distracted, he replaced the phone, the receiving falling out of the cradle. When it began to beep in the annoying monotone, Nigel reached over and put it back. His eyes never left the screen. It took a number of steps - ridiculously easy for the Brit, though - to find out the addy had been a freebie, used once and then deleted. The message itself had been sent from a copy center. On a hope, his lips moving in silent supplication, he called the copy center. He smiled when they told him that yes, they had surveillance cameras. Yes, the morgue's office could send someone down if it was important.

Nigel couldn't go until his shift ended, but when he did, he found it was worth his wait. The IP address had shown which machine was used and when, so isolating the correct amount of tape was simple. Nigel stared at the screen. His breath whistled out. "Not quite careful enough," he murmured.

END Part Six

TBC...


	7. Someone to Watch Over Me

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive

criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Seven: Someone to Watch Over Me**

Jordan lay wide awake, staring at the cracked ceiling, listening to the ceaseless traffic beneath her window. Though the weather was cooler now, living five floors up still made her apartment (right, more like a cubicle, she reminded herself) stuffy, so the windows were open. Sounds of fighting and making up, of sadness and joy, of life and death even invaded the very air around her. She breathed slowly, trying to push away her father's words, his belief that everyone would be happier to have her alive than angrier at her supposed death. The harder she pushed, the harder the idea pushed back until tears ran down her face and her heart seemed permanently clenched in her chest.

She'd never expected to miss it all so much. At first it had seemed like such a release. No more death. No more violence. No more grisly examples of all the ways in which the human race finds to kill each other. No more meetings, even if Garret never chided her for her lateness. No more averted eyes when she walked by and someone had just mentioned Woody's name. No more eddies of whispered conversations, speculations about when and how far she'd flee. No more Jordan Cavanaugh, wild, crazy, obsessive, pain-in-the-ass-at-times, afraid-to-commit. No more Max. No more Emily. Most of all, no more Woody Hoyt.

That feeling had lasted until the first ambulance had rolled down the street beneath her window and every instinct in her being had screamed to follow it, to find out if she could do anything. Because now there was no more justice, no more truth, no more making a difference. No one knew her or her history. N one knew her. Period. End of story. She'd come to realize that whatever story her life was supposed to tell, it hadn't been finished. She had cut it short. She had walked away. She hated herself for it.

And then the Tell killings had started. Despite the obvious risks, Jordan had jumped into her own version of an investigation. When she wasn't tending bar in the little place around the corner, she was in the library, reading the papers or looking up information on their computers. Her trained coroner's mind had looked for the details the printed and broadcast reports left out because they told her what she was looking for. It had been slow and painstaking, but eventually she'd begun to suspect Taxine poisoning. Sneaking into the morgue had been an almost unacceptable risk, and only the fact that it was a temporary building had enabled her to leave at all.

When it was clear the yew tree lead hadn't panned out, she'd let her mind drift until a couple nights ago a customer had asked for some unusual drink. Another patron had laughed loudly and told the girl - who looked to be about twenty-five and 'slumming' - to be careful - if she got the wrong mix, it could kill her. So Jordan had rushed out the morning with a flimsy cover story, but she'd managed to talk to enough people who knew the victims to establish her link. She'd intended to send Nigel the e-mail, visit her mother's grave (and her own empty one) one final time and then, leave. She'd realized she'd never get on with things if she stayed in Boston. Leaving might feel like a hemorrhage at first, but it wouldn't kill her in the end. The slow blood-letting of living so close to all of them would however.

"Damn you, Max," she muttered in the darkness.

XXXXX

Max Cavanaugh spent an equally sleepless night. He drank beer steadily without feeling it in the slightest. Every so often he would take out Emily's locket, open it and run a finger over the photo. So much blood, so much guilt. Jordan's life had been steeped in it. He sighed. Maybe it was best she stay "dead." Maybe her life in Boston was too much of a web she could never escape. He resolved not to push her as he signaled the barman at the "quaint" Irish pub for another pint.

At home his phone rang endlessly.

XXXXX

Nigel paced. He'd called Max every ten minutes for the last five hours. He dialed Garret's number. Then stopped.

Nigel was certain that Max knew. He was certain that Max had talked with her, that Max knew why she'd done it. He also felt like an idiot. He had realized, when he saw the video, why Jordan's father had come around asking about that damn locket. They all should have seen it immediately. The gold untouched by the flames but every other trace of Jordan's existence gone? They'd been misled by grief and it was exactly what she'd wanted. Nigel wondered if Mac had printed the locket himself that day. Probably so. And the Brit was willing to bet it had been wiped clean.

"Jordan, Jordan, Jordan," he whispered. "Why?" He was angry with her, but deeper than that was a tremendous well of sadness that somehow she had felt that being dead to them was a good choice. He knew, given the timing of her now-not-so-mysterious help that she was still in Boston. But he worried. Once they caught the Tell killer, would she

leave? Maybe she'd only stayed because she didn't know where to go and then the killings had started and...

He thudded a fist into his door. He would drive himself crazy if he thought that way. Jordan was alive. Jordan was in Boston. Max was not answering his phone. Nigel took a deep breath. Time to call the only other person outside the morgue who would want to find her as much as he did. Even if that person couldn't admit it yet.

XXXXX

Tammy swirled the wine in her glass, but she didn't drink. She watched Woody eat instead. He'd lost a few pounds since the Tell case. The weight loss had accelerated after the dreams had begun. He thought he'd concealed them from her, that because he no longer woke up shouting Jordan Cavanaugh's name, she believed they'd gone. He didn't know he thrashed about, that he spoke to her before whatever end came about. Tammy never asked. The haunted, aching look in the depths of his blue eyes let her know it was not something he wanted to face.

As a psychiatrist, she knew she should make him talk about it, work out his guilt or whatever it was, move on in reality, as he'd said he had. As a woman, she knew it was hopeless. He loved Jordan. A part of him always would. She'd known that in the beginning. What she hadn't realized was how big that part was. He would never intentionally hurt her, but he could never feel for her the way he'd felt about the dark-haired M.E. He'd never love anyone that way again, though he might be able to find comfort with another woman. She just wasn't the one. She couldn't settle for that and if she tried, it would end badly for them.

She cleared her throat. "I - um - I got an interesting phone call today."

Woody took a sip of his wine, smiling at her. "Yeah?"

She nodded. "An old professor of mine at Stanford has an opening in his department. He wants me to take it." That much was true, though the offer had come several months ago and she'd turned it down.

Woody nodded slowly. "Do you want it?"

She put on her brightest smile. "Yeah, I do. I really do. You know me, I'm a California girl, never have adjusted to these Boston winters. And," she sighed. "I really would rather teach. I'm better at that."

Woody chided her, telling her she was obviously pretty good with some of her patients.

She blushed and shook her head. "We could... stay in touch? Run up the frequent flier miles. Maybe you'd want to move out there...?"

Woody nodded. "Yeah, yeah, of course. I mean, stay in touch, visit, see what happens." He took another sip of wine.

"When would this start?"

She twisted her napkin in her lap. "Well, the thing is, the vacancy is really sudden. I'm leaving from Logan tonight."

Woody's jaw dropped.

"I'm sorry, Woody. Really. But this is such an opportunity! I'm going to keep my place here until the new semester anyway. Just in case, you know?"

He nodded. "Makes sense. I'm happy for you, Tammy. Really." And the thing was, he did feel happy for her. More than that, he felt relief for himself. She was great - everything he needed in his life, but the Tell case had reminded how much Jordan had contributed to his life. And the dreams had convinced him he'd never be completely whole without her.

Tammy deserved more.

Their parting was oddly formal. She refused his offer of a ride to the airport, saying she hated goodbyes. If he guessed she was really going back to her place to compose a letter request a leave of absence and making plane reservations to visit her sister in Seattle, he never let on. Instead, he did the dishes in silence, turned off his phone and fell into bed.

_She_ didn't come to him that night. But at least that way _she_ couldn't burst into flames.

XXXXX

Around dawn, Jordan gave up on sleep. She got up to go running. She wasn't working until midnight, so maybe she could wear herself out enough to take a nap later on. She ran slowly, easily, keeping a good pace, letting her mind wander until she found herself perilously close to some of her old routes. Her breath blowing in and out faster, she slowed to a walk. She saw the store across the street was open and decided to get some water. And maybe a banana.

As she looked at the fruit, she heard the bell signaling a new arrival and one of the cashiers called out a greeting. "Lily!

Good morning!"

Jordan shrunk into herself. "It's not. It's not. It's not," she whispered.

"Morning, Catherine."

It was. Damn it! Jordan ducked behind a giant plywood pineapple advertising the benefits of organic fruit.

"Getting the usual?" the cashier asked.

"Yep. Is Bill in this morning? He knows exactly how I like my sandwich."

"Sorry, no. But I'm sure Neill will do a good job."

"Neill?"

"Yeah, we're a little shorthanded today. Normally he does our stock, but today..."

Jordan muttered, "Get on with it." At last she heard Lily tell the cashier she'd be back in a few minutes to check out. Jordan decided that staying behind the pineapple until Lily was out of the store was the best thing. So she crouched and idly stroked the wood grain. Finally she looked down at her watch. Where the hell was Lily?

She peered out from behind the giant fruit. Another customer had claimed the cashier's attention. Jordan crept from behind the plywood. Fingers of dread tickled her spine. She wanted to walk out of the store and sprint back to her place, but her feet turned toward the back of the store. Moving slowly, telling herself if she were quiet enough, she could

see that Lily was fine and then disappear again.

The deli counter was vacant. A purse, its contents scattered, lay in front of the glass. The back door gaped open. A piece of white cloth lay just on the customer side of the gate to the counter. Delicately, Jordan lifted it and sniffed. Her curse was stronger this time.

She ran toward the front of the store. The stunned cashier tried to calm her down, certain this poor woman was not quite in her right mind. Jordan grabbed the woman's shoulders and said in as calm tones and as slowly as she could, "Neill. Who is he? Where does he live?"

"I don't think I should tell you that!"

"Lady, you'd better tell me because he just kidnapped my friend. Lily. You talked to her when she came in."

"He - What? Are you insane?"

Jordan's voice became ice. "I think he is the William Tell killer and if you don't tell what I need to know, he's going to kill Lily next. And I'm not going to let that happen."

Jordan's voice finally got through to the woman, who followed her docilely to the deli counter. She began to dither again and Jordan's fingers itched to slap her, but Jordan restrained herself. "Where does he live?"

"Um - oh, let's see... his mother's old house. Oh, a lovely place-"

"Where!" Jordan shouted.

The woman rattled off an address.

Jordan looked at her. "Call the police. They may not believe you, but at least get them down here to look at this scene.

Do it." And then Jordan was gone.

XXXXX

"What is it?" Woody yelled as he all but chased Garret Macy down the morgue hallway.

"Lily."

"What about her?"

"She's missing." Garret stopped and faced Woody, who skidded to a halt. "The Tell killer has her."

"What? How? She's not even late yet!"

"Doesn't need to be," said Bug, coming out from one of the temporary rooms.

"I got a voice mail. I was here actually. Didn't want to answer the phone that early," Garret told the detective. "Damn it!"

"You couldn't have known, Dr. Macy," Bug consoled.

"Yeah, yeah," was Macy's reply.

"What did she say?" Woody asked.

Garret shook his head. "It was a little confused. Nigel's analyzing it. Basically she'd been at Good Grains and the deli guy said she fainted, but she didn't think she had. He wouldn't let her leave what he said was the storeroom and the walls were covered with targets and dart boards. Her last words were 'He's making me some tea.' Then she hung up."

No one said it but it hung between them. Had she been cut off?

"That's kind of slim," Woody said.

"Think about it, Woody," insisted Garret. "Tea - yew tea. The guy works in a health food store and yesterday, Nigel and his mysterious helper figured out all the victims were health food nuts. Lily was taken from a health food store."

Woody held up his hand. "All right. Okay. Whatever this is, let's find Lily. I'll get some men down to the store right away to find out where the 'deli guy' lives."

"That won't be necessary." They all turned to find Max gazing phlegmatically at them.

"I think it will, Max," Woody replied.

"I know where he lives."

"How?" exclaimed Bug.

"I got a phone call. Lily's still alive - right now. And if this Neill wants to kill her, he's going to have to kill two people today."

"Two?" Macy's face registered his confusion. "Who else?"

Max looked from one to the other. It was Woody his gaze settled on though. "Jordan."

XXXXX

Neill Cassidy lived only a few blocks from the health food store. Jordan sprinted them. When she was a few houses away, she slowed, surveyed the situation. The neighborhood was quiet. Cassidy's house was shuttered and utterly still. She moved around, scanning the ground for anything that could trip her up or make a sound as she made her way to the back. She scuttled a long in an uncomfortable crouch when she reached the kitchen windows. When she rounded the corner, she gave a murmured prayer of thanks. Basement windows dotted the clapboard house.

Taking a few deep breaths, Jordan walked up to the back door and knocked, calling out loudly. If the man came to the door, she'd feed him some story about losing her dog while jogging and thinking it ran back here and ... anything to keep him talking and away from Lily. There was no answer however. In a moment of wild hope, Jordan tried the door. Firmly locked.

Well then, we do it the old fashioned way, she thought. She took off her sweat shirt, made a fist of her left hand, wrapped the fleece around it and punched through the window. Glass tinkled and she could hear Lily give a weak scream. Jordan decided hearing a supposed ghost's voice right then might not be the most helpful thing, so set to clearing the glass instead. When the frame was denuded of all shards, Jordan squeezed herself through it and dropped to the floor.

"Whoa," she murmured. The place looked exactly like the stockroom of a small store might. The pieces came together into a coherent picture finally. The victims all shopped at Good Grains. Somehow Neill Cassidy approached them and used the chloroformed rags she'd found to knock them out. He must then convince them of something - they passed out naturally? - and that he'd taken them to the store's stock room. He probably gave them the yew tea, telling them it would make them feel better. "Bastard."

"Oh, my God." Jordan turned at the sound of her friend's voice. Lily's face was chalk white. Her eyes huge and round. Jordan could see her pulse fluttering in her throat. "I'm dead," the grief counselor murmured.

Jordan rushed to her. "No, no, Lily. You're not dead. And you're not going to be dead any time soon, okay?"

"But - But - You're dead!"

Jordan hung her head. "It's a long story. Can I tell you after we get out of her."

Mutely, Lily nodded. She tried to stand up and wobbled. "Or maybe not."

Jordan nodded. "Okay. Don't worry. I'm going to get you out of-"

Lily's warning, which Jordan only heard vaguely, came too late. Whatever it was that came crashing down on her skull came down with force. Darkness swallowed Jordan.

END Part Seven


	8. Hit Me With Your Best Shot

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive

criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

A/N: Thanks for the feedback, especially Rin22 - I'm glad it works for you and you enjoyed the last chapter title.

**Part Eight: Hit Me with Your Best Shot**

"Jordan? Jordan? Open your eyes." Lily's voice was fuzzy. "Please. Come on, Jordan." The grief counselor shook her friend gnetly, hoping for some sign from the prone figure on the floor.

Groaning, Jordan opened her eyes and pushed herself into a sitting position. She felt her gorge rise and took several deep breaths fighting it. Her head thudded in time to her pulse. She reached around and touched the back of her head. She winced and pulled away her hand. Her fingers were sticky with blood, but not much. Her mind cleared quickly and, though it made her woozy, she turned to look at Lily. "It's all right, Lily. I'm going to live." She grimaced. "And let's discuss the irony of that statement later."

"Jordan, he said he was coming right back. As soon as he made another cup of his 'special' tea. "We've got to get out of here."

Jordan nodded. "Yeah. Are you better? Can you stand?"

"I'm going to," Lily stated.

"All right, this way." Jordan levered herself up using the edge of the crate Lily had been sitting on. She swayed for a moment, put a hand out to steady herself and then put one foot in front of the other. She reached a hand to Lily and helped her up. They kept their hands clasped as they made their way toward Jordan's unorthodox point of entry.

"Watch out for the glass," Jordan warned.

"Jordan, don't take this the wrong way, but this is really weird. I mean, you're - you're - we all thought..."

"I know, Lily." Jordan's was soft and regretful. "And I'm really sorry."

They reached the window. Quietly dragging over another of the crates littering the room mocked up as a grocery supply room, they decided Jordan would go first and then could help Lily through the window, since her leggs were still the wobbliest. Jordan was halfway through the open frame when Lily shrieked. "Not again," Jordan muttered as Neill Cassidy grabbed her and shoved the crate aside with his foot. He caught hold of her legs but was unprepared for her resistance. A sudden kick knocked him off balance. He reeled, holding on to Jordan, pulling her back into the basement. Legs flailing, nails ready to scratch, teeth even bared, Jordan didn't go down easily. Instead she and Cassidy fell in a heap on the floor. Jordan gasped with pain as they hit the floor. She was pretty certain she'd cracked a rib or two and her hip was going to be one large bruise. Not bad, though, for a dead woman.

Next to her, Cassidy gasped for breath, the impact having winded him. Metal glinted in the dim light. Sticking up from Cassidy's waistband was a thirty-eight. Jordan grabbed for it. Though he moved as though underwater, the Tell killer tried to stop her. His hand closed on her wrist like a vise. He began shaking her wrist. Jordan felt her grip weakening.

She screamed Lily's name and flung the gun as far as she could.

On her hands and knees, Lily crawled toward the weapon. She glanced over her shoulder a couple times, the sight redoubling her efforts to reach the gun. Though Jordan was fighting for her life, Cassidy was slowly winning. He pinned the M.E. to the floor and straddled her. Grinning maniacally, his eyes glittering with utter insanity, he leered down at her.

"I'm going to use you for target practice, bitch."

Jordan snarled back, "I bet that's what you say to all the girls."

He paused for just a moment. "You think I'm joking?"

"I think you're going to fail," his intended victim replied. God, Dad, please get here, she thought. Her hasty phone call while she'd cased the house had to prove helpful.

"You know, most of the time, I make it easy."

"Really? How's that?"

"I give them the tea first." He licked his lips. "You ,I'm going to do alive - and kicking."

"No, you're not." Lily's voice was dead cold. In the sudden silence, it was nothing to hear the hammer being pulled back, the round being chambered and Jordan had little trouble imagining the feel of the metal pressed against Cassidy's skull. "Get up. Keep your hands where I can see them."

As Cassidy moved off, his knees trembling, Jordan scurried back Pushing herself upright when she reached Lily. "Good job," she panted. "Want me to take that?"

Which was about when hell broke loose. Again.

END Part Eight

TBC...

Sorry, I know it's super short. I'll try to post the next part really soon.


	9. A Place Called Home

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive

criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Nine: A Place Called Home**

Jordan later described it as "Raid on Entebbe" on steroids. The basement door flew off its hinges - it turned out Matt Seely had one of a hell of a good kick when Lily's safety was concerned. Heavy feet began to pound down the stairs and Woody yelled out for everyone to freeze. Lily also found herself obeying his command to "Put down your weapons!" Unfortunately, Neill Cassidy was not nearly so compliant. He lunged for the gun, knocking it from Lily's hand, sending it skittering backwards. As he dove toward the women, Jordan's instincts propelled her knee into his groin with every ounce of force her frame possessed.

He dropped, shrieking in pain.

It was music to everyone's ears.

After Cassidy was cuffed and dragged upstairs by a uniformed officer who didn't appear too sympathetic to the killer's difficulties in walking, silence descended on the room. No one seemed able to look at Jordan, yet they all wanted to stare. Mouths were stapled shut by anger and confusion, even as vocal cords were loosened by happiness and relief. In the silence, Lily sniffed. "Are you sure it's him?"

Bug nodded. "You should see the upstairs." He looked around. "Or maybe not."

"He's got an entire wall with clippings and pictures from the papers," Nigel added. "And a photo display that if I never have to think about again I'll be a happy, happy man."

"What does that mean?" Lily asked, in spite of herself.

Jordan's voice was low, tentative. "He took pictures of the victims."

Nigel's eyes met hers for a moment. He saw the pleading in them and, for a moment, his anger burned brightly enough to blind him, but then he thought of how many times in the past months they'd all wished her back amongst them. He nodded. If there was a trial, it would come out that he'd been in the photos, grinning like a tourist in front of the giant, fake pineapple in some vacation trap. Neither Lily nor Jordan needed to know that this morning though.

Finally Garret raised his eyes to his not-so-late employee. "You know, Jordan, it seems like the rumors of your death have been greatly exaggerated. I'd love to know why, but, if it's all right with everyone else, I'd like to hear it somewhere other than this creep show."

"We'll - uh - we'll need statements," Woody interjected. "From Lily and - and..." He swallowed. "Jordan."

XXXXX

Darkness had fallen on the most difficult day of Jordan's life. After giving her statement, she had spent a long time at the temporary morgue explaining everything to her colleagues. And the people she hoped were still - or could find it in themselves to be - her friends. She knew she'd have a lot of work to do to regain their trust and, for some of them, it might never come back. She didn't know the last time she'd cried so much, silent tears coursing unheeded down her cheeks, until her eyes burned and swelled. In light of everything, her reasons sounded like such paltry things, excuses that reduced the importance of everything meaningful to her to ashes.

After the others had left, Jordan sat in Macy's office. He shut the door, opened his desk and poured her a scotch. "It's going to take a lot, Jordan."

"I know." She took a long sip of the drink, letting it scald her throat. Oddly, in the months away, tending bar, she'd been completely sober. Maybe, after all the years of running, of hiding from her feelings, when the emotions came for her, she'd finally let them. And she'd lived through it. Something in her - some sliver of base metal - had been melted in the crucible of her self-created exile and poured away. She knew that, at last, her life was not determined by unequivocal answers to certain questions - who killed my mother? will Woody break my heart if I let him in? what else is my father hiding? -but by accepting that the answers to some questions change. She set down the glass. "Thanks."

Garret eyes her curiously. "Don't want it?"

She smiled tiredly. "Don't need it."

Garret sipped his drink in silence. They let the time tick by. "Were you happy, Jordan?"

She snorted. "Miserable. I can honestly say that, except for the time right after my mother died, I don't think I've ever been unhappier." She gave him a sly look, one that was almost the old Jordan. "You can tell everyone that, if you think it'll help."

Garret shook his head, but a slight grin played on his lips. "I should be furious with you. We all should be."

"You should!"

"And I am, Jordan. I really am. But at the same time, I - I - nothing has been right without you." Fresh tears - God, she was really starting to run the risk of dehydration here - trickled down her face. Garret handed over a handkerchief and perched himself on the corner of his desk. "Are you going to be all right? Coming back to work here, I mean."

She shrugged. "I'll have to be, won't I?" She looked up at him. "I'm not the same person, Garret. I don't know if I can explain it, but having to live with the choice I made - a stupid, stupid choice in an instant - I - I..." She shook her head, smiling ruefully. "I don't know."

"You grew up?" His voice was lightly teasing, but his face, serious.

She gave a small laugh. "Is that it?"

"Just might be."

There was another silence, the sort they'd been used to in each other's company. Again it was Garret who broke it. "What about Woody?"

"What about him?"

"Jordan-"

"No, Garret, I know." She lifted one shoulder uneasily. "I'm over him."

"Are you trying to say you don't love him anymore?"

She shook her head. "No. I'll always love him." She had to take a deep breath or two as a new storm of tears loomed on the horizon. "But I pushed him away for a long time and, in the end, it cost me. It cost me him. It cost me - probably a lifetime of happiness."

"Jordan, it doesn't have to-"

"Yeah, Garret, yeah, it does." She shook her head. "I think there's too much - history there. And I've learned to live with that. I don't like it, but I'll be okay."

"You can't just - Jordan, you can't give up."

"Who said I'm giving up?" She feigned indignance. "I'll be happy, Garret. I will. I'll find someone and make it work. Some day. I'm not going to become some hermit, the poster girl for lost love." She stood up. "Thanks. I - uh - I'd better head - God, I don't know. Dad's, I guess."

"The view's not the same, but it's not bad," Garret said as she reached the door. Over her shoulder, she smiled at him.

"Stairs are at the end of this hall."

She nodded.

XXXXX

Mac found her there nearly two hours later. The evenings were getting cooler and she was shivering a bit. He took off his light jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "I got worried."

"Sorry," she told him softly. "I never thought I'd see the city like this again."

"I don't want to tell you what to do-"

"Yes, you do." She grinned at him.

He smiled back. "All right, you got me there. I want you to stay with me a while. Until you find a new place, get back into things here."

"Yeah, apparently being declared dead creates a lot of paperwork when you want to come back to work."

Max put his arm around her. "Macy'll take the paperwork, Jordan. They'd all pitch in if it would help."

Her smile faded. "Not all of them, Dad. Not yet. We'll see." She looked over at him. "I'm only staying til my life is back to normal."

"Dear God, as long as that?" She gave him a tap on the shoulder. Wordlessly now, he reached into one pocket and drew out the evidence Jordan had left behind to mark her "death." He pondered it for a moment. "How'd you get it anyway?"

She smiled. "I snuck into the funeral home and stole it. I needed something of hers."

"Jordan, I'm sorry-"

"It's okay, Dad. There's no - no playbook in situations like that. We all do the best we can."

"My Lord, when did you get so philosophical?"

A light, genuine laugh. "Probably about the time I lost count of how many roaches I'd beaten to death."

"Charming." He hugged her more tightly. "Take the locket, Jordan."

"No, Dad. Keep it. I have - I have other things to remember her by."

Max took one of her hands and opened it, laying the pendant and chain in her palm. Then he curled her fingers over it. "Keep it, Jordan. And look inside it every once in a while." For a long moment she gazed at him, her dark eyes empty of the bitterness and recrimination that had so long simmered in them. Then she nodded. "I'll be at a home," Max said. "Whenever you get tired of the view."

When he'd gone, she went back to staring at the city twinkling beneath and around her. He'd left his jacket, so she was no longer cold. It smelled of his aftershave and shampoo. She breathed in deeply, remembering the comfort of those scents from her childhood. She opened the locket.

Max had changed the picture.

END Part Nine

TBC...


	10. This Is Your Life

FEEDBACK: Yes, please. I respond to everything except flames. Constructive

criticism is valued.

DISCLAIMER: I don't own these characters. No profit is being made. It's all for fun.

**Part Ten: This Is Your Life**

Jordan heard the door behind her open again. She was crying softly as she stared at the new picture Max had put in the locket. "Change your mind, Dad?"

The footsteps stopped behind her. "Jordan."

She caught her breath and quickly swiped away the tears, before she turned. Her smile glittered falsely and her voice rose in the unnaturally high and tight tone that signaled her discomfort. "Woody. Hi. Fancy seeing you here."

He stared at her, his eyes like ice chips. "You let me think you were dead, Jordan."

"Gee, Wood, don't take it personally. I let everyone think I was dead."

"Damn it, Jordan! Do you know what everyone went through? What I went through?"

Her tears had vanished and anger flared in their depths. "Yeah, I noticed. How long was it before she moved in?"

"She? Who? Tammy?" Woody's jaw worked, grinding his teeth. "Did you spy on me?"

Jordan fought back the shaking that had started in her toes and wanted to climb up her legs and jitter her apart. "You didn't answer me."

He took a step toward her. "And you didn't answer me. Did you spy on me?" He watched her writhe emotionally. "Oh, my God. You also came to the crime scenes. It was you I saw." He exhaled angrily.

She nodded.

"God Almighty, Jordan! God! I - I - Do you get it? Do you know how many times I wondered what you'd think of the case? How often I thought your instincts would have made the difference?" He stopped, his throat raw from yelling at her and from the tears he refused to permit egress. He lowered his voice. "Do you understand that I mourned you? That I kept thinking the last real conversation we had ended with me telling you what you said to me didn't matter? I dreamt about you, Jo."

She took deep breaths, steeling herself for another round of futile words. "Woody, I can't say anything more than I'm sorry."

"Is that it? Do you think that's enough?"

She stepped toward him. "No. It's not enough. I know that. But I can't change what I did."

Woody's shoulders slumped. "Why did you do it?"

She shrugged. "I don't know. It made sense at the time."

"Sense? How could faking your own death make sense?" The pain in his voice rang in the air. "I don't get it, Jordan."

"I don't know," she told him, tears choking her voice. "I went back in to get evidence and I - I knew if I didn't find it that Moreno would walk, get a whole new shot at life. And - And then I was taking off my mom's locket and putting it about where they'd expect to find me if I'd been trapped. I just - I wanted a new life." She thrust her hands in Max's coat pockets and gazed up at the stars.

"How was it?" His voice scalded her heart.

"Awful." She let tears slip down her cheeks. "I found out everything I thought was wrong with my life was more right than I ever knew."

"Why didn't you - Why this long, Jordan?"

"What was I supposed to do, Woody? Pop by the temporary morgue and say, 'Hey, by the way, I'm not quite as dead as I pretended. What've we got in Autopsy One?' I didn't know what to do." She sighed heavily. "I had finally decided to leave Boston actually, to get on with whatever I could."

"And none of us ever would have known?"

She shook her head. "It might have been better that way."

"Jordan-"

She gave him a sad smile. "Dad thinks everyone will forgive me in time. Garret, too, but I don't know. I've put everyone here through a lot, maybe it would be better to - to stop reminding them."

"No." He shook his head. "Un-uh. You said you found out your life was - what? - more right than you knew? So you want to give that up again?"

"I don't want to. But I've hurt everyone enough."

Woody snorted softly. "That's irony for you - Jordan Cavanaugh worrying about hurting all of us."

She turned away from him. Her whisper floated into the night. "I've always worried about that. Didn't you ever understand that? I never wanted to hurt you - any of you - but especially you, Woody."

"You managed to do a pretty good job of it though."

She turned around, her eyes flashing, her own voice growing hoarse. "You played a part in it too, Woody! Did you forget that? Or is it just easier to make it all my fault?" She clenched her fists inside the coat pockets. "I told you how I felt. You didn't want to hear it then. I'm sorry I couldn't perform on cue, but you knew me, you knew what I was like. You knew how damn hard it was for me to trust anyone - anyone!"

His mouth trembled with pent up frustration - and grief at the pain they had caused each other. He kept his voice low. "I was hurting and - okay, I'll admit it - scared."

She nodded. "And I came back. Remember that? But it wasn't good enough." Her eyes overflowed. "I know I screwed up. I know I did everything I could to push you away and I will regret that for the rest of my life, but when you told me it was too late..." She turned away from him again. "I told everyone it was all right. I lied to everyone as long as I could, so no one would know."

He moved toward her, his heart thudding rapidly, his breathing shallow. "Know what, Jordan?"

She scuffed the rooftop with her toe. "That after all that time, after all the chasing, you finally caught me. And I wasn't good enough."

If someone had punched Hoyt in the solar plexus at the moment it would have hurt and stunned him less. Her words might as well have been one of the scalpels she'd wielded so well in the old days and she might as well have cut out his heart with one stroke. He closed the distance between them and, spinning her around, gathered her into his arms. She fought him, but he held on. Tightly. When he reached one hand up to stroke her hair, he felt her relax marginally against him. He stared at the city lights. "Oh, God, Jo, I'm sorry," he murmured. "So sorry." He longed to say more, but couldn't find any words that seemed anything other than hollow. "How did we get here?" He looked down at the crown of her dark head and dropped a light kiss on her hair.

"The stairs?" she replied weakly. The effort at being the old Jordan both reassured and grieved Woody.

He couldn't help the slight chuckle though. Releasing her just a bit, he took one hand and tilted up her chin. "I can't live without you, Jo. I still can't believe you did what you did, but it doesn't change the fact that without you, I'll never be a whole person. You are not only good enough, you are the best part of my life. And I don't ever want to lose you again." To convince her and ease away her inevitable doubts, he kissed her. What had been intended as a gentle kiss with promise of what might be quickly deepened with hunger and a need that stretched back over four years.

Jordan pulled away when she could no longer breathe. "What about Tammy?"

Woody shook his head. "It wasn't working. She's moving to California."

Jordan nodded. "Oh." She leaned her head into his hand as he brushed her cheek with the backs of his fingers. She raised one hand and caught his as it trailed down her neck. "You once promised to hold me tightly."

He smiled. "And then you avoided me."

"I'm not avoiding you now." She grinned.

He leaned down and kissed her again, softly and slowly. "What were you looking?"

She blinked. "When?"

"When I came up here. When you thought I was Max and asked if I'd changed my mind."

"Oh," she took the locket from Max's coat. "He changed the picture."

"Can I see?" Woody asked before reaching for the necklace. She handed it over. He opened it. "It's beautiful. Not a surprise, since it's you."

Jordan blushed. "I can't figure out where he got it though."

He laughed. "I don't know how he got a copy of it, but it's from that birthday party you guys threw Dr. Macy a while back."

"How do you know that?"

"Easy." He tapped the picture. "The way you have your hair. And the lipstick you're wearing."

Her eyes went wide. "You noticed that sort of stuff?"

"I noticed everything about you, Jordan. Always." He pulled her close again. "Why do you think he changed it?"

She studied the photo for a moment, not really needing to, but hunting for the way to explain it. "To tell me to put the past behind me, to be - myself, I guess. To be happy."

"Good plan." The wind rose slightly and blew a lock of hair across her face. He gently brushed it back behind her ear. "Can I make you happy?"

"No." Her response surprised him. "I've got to be happy with myself first."

He nodded. "Are you?"

"Yeah. I am. And before you ask, I can be happy with you."

"I can't ask for more than that." He kissed her forehead.

"Well, you can," she suggested.

"Would I get more?"

"You might." Her look was sly. She wrapped her arms around him and leaned up to kiss him this time. When neither of them could breathe, she laid her head on his chest. "Look, the sun's coming up."

"The first day of the rest of your life, Dr. Cavanaugh."

"Is that was that phrase means? I've always wondered," she teased.

"Now you know." He looked into her eyes once more. "Just please don't ever try to figure it out again." He unwrapped himself from her and she let him. They held hands as they walked toward the stairs.

"Did you really dream about me?"

"Un-huh," he said. "But having you here is much better."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah, you kept spontaneously combusting."

She gave him a wise nod. "I can see how that might be a problem."

Later that morning, in his arms and his bed, she wasn't quite so certain she wouldn't burst into flames, however. As she watched him sleep, she marveled that she could have made so many mistakes and yet this was her life. He stirred and opened his eyes. He sidled closer to her, molding her curves to his body again. She settled her head on his shoulder. Her voice had the dreamlike quality of his nocturnal visions when she spoke, but she stayed real and firm and whole. "I love you."

Woody smiled. Who would have ever thought she could say it first? "I love you, too, Jordan."

END

A/N1: I know in reality we're talking lots of therapy for these two if Jordan pulled a stunt like this, but wouldn't we all get bored with that? I would, so we get sweet fluff at the end.

A/N2: Thanks for all the feedback. It's been my pleasure to write the story.


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